


Like Real People Do

by rarelypoetic



Series: Pumpkin!au [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Halloween, Human Castiel, M/M, Pumpkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarelypoetic/pseuds/rarelypoetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean engages in some risky pumpkin carving activities and gives Cas a lesson in pie-making.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Real People Do

It was two days until Halloween, and Dean was panicking. Castiel hadn’t called since that day at the pumpkin patch a few weeks ago. Not that he’d really expected him to, but now Dean was at a loss. He was probably being stupid. It’s not like his mother wouldn’t love him anymore if he didn’t find her a nice pumpkin of all things, but Dean still had the irrational feeling that she was unhappy with him.

When he had come home from the orchard that day empty-handed, Mary gave him a tired smile and a hug, telling him it was perfectly okay that he hadn’t found anything - it was late in the season after all - but would he set the table for dinner, please?

Dean had guiltily gone through the motions of setting the silverware and plates on the dining room table like a school boy admonished for being a troublemaker. They waited until Sam came home to eat. His presence provided a welcome distraction to Dean’s own failure; Mary talked animatedly with him throughout the whole meal. Afterwards, Dean had collapsed into bed and tried not to beat himself up over the fact that he was a 25 year old mechanic still living with his mom, who he couldn’t even manage to make happy. Eventually he thought himself to sleep.

Now Dean stared at the glaring red ‘X’ that Sam had slashed over the 29th on the calendar like it was a death sentence. It was rainy and miserable outside, the sky a dull palette of grays and whites. His mom was upstairs in bed still, sleeping in, but Dean accidentally woke up early and found that he couldn’t go back to sleep. Sam had gone to breakfast with a bunch of old high school friends a few hours ago.

The whole house was silent, which wasn’t so much unusual, but it was discomfiting nonetheless. It made him feel uneasy to sit quietly. That was probably why Dean jumped so high when his cell phone began to ring in his pocket. He fumbled quickly to flip it open without looking at the caller ID, heart still stuttering.

“Hello?”

“Who’s this?” a childish, vaguely familiar voice inquired.

“You called _me_ ,” Dean said incredulously. “Who are you?”

“I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” the girl replied.

“Then you’d better hang up,” Dean insisted. Then he heard the girl giggle mischievously, and the sound of a man’s low voice rumbling in the distant background, and it hit him suddenly. He pulled the phone away from his face very quickly to double-check the screen.

“Claire?”

“That’s me,” the girl replied seriously. “How do you know my name?”

“It’s Dean. Remember me?” Claire made a thoughtful sound. “I was the mean man at the pumpkin patch,” Dead clarified.

“Oh!” Claire said, realization dawning. “You’re the one who tried to steal my pumpkin. Uncle Cas told Daddy about you.”

Dean felt himself flush at the implications of that. That could very easily be a bad thing. He was tempted to ask her what exactly had been said about him, but that wouldn’t be fair. “Why do you have his phone?” Dean asked instead.

“Uncle Cas gave it to me for a little while,” Claire said proudly. “He lets me play tetris on it, but sometimes I like to press the buttons and see what happens.”

Dean made a sound like he was impressed. “You wanna hand the phone over to Cas, Claire? I’m sure he’d like to know that you called someone by accident.”

“Not really,” Claire said.

“Please?” Fuck, how do you bargain with a seven year old? What do little girls even _like_? He could offer her candy. Wait-- no. That could definitely be taken the wrong way. Then a very rare thing occurred: Dean had a stroke of genius. “Um, have you carved that huge pumpkin yet?”

“No,” Claire said, sounding like she was pouting. “Daddy and Uncle Cas tried to practice carving on a small pumpkin, but they accidentally cut in half. I told them they better not touch the big one.”

“Well, you see, I used to be an excellent pumpkin carver when I was a kid. I could make all kind of designs and faces. I even won an award once in a local carving contest.” True, but there had only been three contestants including him: Sam, who couldn’t even cut a carrot in half without slicing open a finger; old Mrs.Wilkins, who couldn’t see two inches in front of her; and Mary, who Dean heavily suspected had forfeited in order for him to take home the pecan pie prize.

“ _Really_?” Claire sounded amazed, but under that was a hint of skepticism. Okay, fair enough. He probably hadn’t completely won back her trust yet.

“Yep. I carved all of Halloween town into a mini pumpkin last year. Imagine what I could do with a bigger piece of real estate.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Dean was an okay pumpkin carver. And he had attempted to do such a thing last year. It definitely had not come out perfectly, but he hadn’t almost maimed himself like Sam. At least.

“Will you carve the big one for me?” Claire asked.

Dean grinned. Hook, line, and sinker. “You bet. But first I need to ask permission from a grown up.”

Claire sighed resignedly. “Fine. I’ll go get Uncle Cas.”

Dean heard the sound of the phone dropping onto a table, and then the pitter-patter of little feet as Claire scampered across the floor. There was a muffled conversation in the background, and then a louder sound that stood out from the others - something like a groan.

A minute later the phone was picked up again, and Castiel’s weary voice filtered over the line. “Dean?”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greeted cheerily. “You should keep better watch over your niece.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, sounding appropriately embarrassed. “She hasn’t done that before, as far as I know. My brother is talking to her now.”

“Don’t apologize. Your niece is a joy.” She was a handful, but Dean meant it. He like kids - especially ones who had character.

“Yeah, well, for now phone-tetris is off the table,” Castiel grumbled. Dean laughed probably louder than was warranted, and then there was a long, pointed silence.

“You didn’t call me,” Dean said nonchalantly, trying not to sound accusatory.

“I’m sorry. I recently quit my job and things have been kind of complicated with my family...”

“Oh.” Well, now Dean felt like a colossal douche for even bringing it up. “Don’t worry about it, man. No hard feelings.”

“I guess you’ve probably found a pumpkin of your own by now,” Castiel hedged.

“No, actually.” Dean snorted. “You’d be surprised by how inept I am at shopping for fruit.”

“Pumpkins technically belong to the gourd famil--”

“What you’re about to say sounds really enlightening, but I have some news for you,” Dean said.

“I’m listening.”

“I... might have promised Claire that I’d carve that big pumpkin for her.”

“I can’t imagine how that came about,” Castiel deadpanned.

“Claire is very persuasive.” _That’s right_ , Dean thought guiltily. _It had nothing at all to do with how much I wanted an excuse to talk to you._

“I guess you have to come over, then,” Castiel said breezily.

“Guess so.”

“You’ll have to come by my brother’s house. That’s where the pumpkin is.” Dean made a noise of assent and Castiel rattled off the address.

“Can you be here by four?”

“Got nothin’ else to do,” Dean replied. “I’ll see you then.”

-

The moment Dean knocked on the door and it opened to reveal the pumpkin lying like a prized hen on the dining room table, he realized a major flaw in his plan. He’d actually have to take a knife to this thing. In front of at least three other people.

“I might have claimed to be a pumpkin-carving champ,” Dean stage-whispered to Castiel as he wiped his feet on the welcome mat and shimmied out of his leather jacket. Castiel squinted at him as he took Dean’s jacket and hung it up on the coat rack.

“You can’t be any more useless than me and Jimmy.”

That sounded like a challenge. Dean’s palms were thoroughly lubricated with sweat at this point. He walked further into the house, unsubtly looking for an escape route.

Castiel’s brother’s house was a modest, two story affair with a distinct homeliness to it. It was very clean, but Dean felt a little dirty just by being there. There were several crosses mounted on each of the walls in the living room, including a large one with a very detailed figurine of an emaciated Jesus hung by his bloody hands.

“Nice decor,” Dean said, nodding to the collection of religious icons. He immediately winced and looked back at Cas, hoping that he hadn’t just mortally offended him.

“Ah,” Castiel said placidly. “Not my... ‘cup of tea’ anymore, I’m afraid. But Jimmy still retains a certain fondness for them.”

“Huh.” A religious family history, then? That didn’t bode well for the likes of Dean.

“Dean!” Claire burst into the room suddenly, nearly sending Dean to an early grave. She was all smiles and cotton candy, a little ball of sunshine that was so opposite of Cas that Dean wondered if they were truly related.

“Hey, Claire, long time no--”

A man rounded the corner and came to stand behind Claire, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. Dean did a double-take, and then shook his head in case he was hallucinating. This guy had Cas’ face.

“Is that-- what--”

“Cas? Is this the guy you were talking about?” Imitation-Cas asked. There was an almost amused smile curling on his mouth as he studied Dean.

“Yes,” Castiel said. He scrutinized Dean with obvious mirth in his eyes. It was clear that they were both getting a kick out of this. “What’s the matter, Dean? Haven’t you ever seen twins before?”

“You could’ve warned me,” Dean said, trying to play his surprise off as less severe than it actually was. “Y’know, just as a courtesy.”

“Sorry,” Imitation-Cas said. “He keeps forgetting that he shares a face with me.” Dean was so bewildered that he almost forget to laugh at the joke. Then he stepped forward and offered his hand to Dean, who shook it dumbly.

“I’m Jimmy,” he said. “Cas’s older brother.”

“Older?” Castiel scoffed. “Hardly.”

Dean held up his hands. “I’m just here to carve a pumpkin. I don’t want to get in the middle of a sibling rivalry or anything.”

“I assure you, this is one argument that has long since been put to rest,” Castiel said. The look on Jimmy’s face said otherwise, but he neglected to comment.

Dean noticed for the first time that Claire was tugging insistently on his hand, trying to lead him over to the kitchen. He followed her and was vaguely aware of the brothers trailing behind him. The kitchen was an open, airy space with dainty furnishings like lace curtains and doilies under ceramic bowls with fake fruit in them. With every step, Dean felt more and more out of place.

Jimmy caught him staring at a particularly elaborate doily and smiled disarmingly. “That’s my wife’s doing. She says a touch of elegance goes a long way.”

Dean nodded uncomfortably and went to inspect the pumpkin sitting on the table. It was still just as unblemished and smooth as the day he had first seen it. He stared at it so long and hard that his eyes stung, and he barely registered when Cas laid a warm palm on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Dean straightened and willed himself to snap out of it. “‘Course.” He looked around and noticed Jimmy had disappeared. Cas’s warmth was a nice comfort at his side, but he tried not to lean into him because Claire was standing beside them, peeking over the side of the table with a look of quiet awe in her eyes.

A moment later Jimmy popped back into the room carrying a cloth bundle. He dumped it on the table next to the pumpkin and unwrapped it to reveal a terrifying assortment of saws and carving tools.

Jimmy picked up a particularly slender saw and handed it to Dean. “That’s a keyhole saw. You’re gonna use that to cut a hole in the top of the pumpkin.”

“Right,” Dean said. He gripped it like he knew what he was doing and touched it to the crown of the pumpkin, holding his breath.

Castiel leaned a little closer and put his mouth to Dean’s ear. “You need to hold it at a different angle. Turn the pumpkin onto its side.”

Dean did so immediately, hoping that it would get Cas to put some distance between them. If he had to deal with that warm breath ghosting over the shell of his ear much longer, the modicum of self-control he had was going to snap.

Dean plunged the saw into the pumpkin and began moving it in a circular direction. It felt like cutting into granite. Maybe it was his nerves, or maybe it was just that this was an alien decoy pumpkin sent to planet earth for the sole purpose of making Dean Winchester look like a fool.

Claire watched his every move intently, unblinking. Dean didn’t have room to screw up, so he went slowly. It took him a full ten minutes to finish cutting the hole. When he was done, he grabbed the stem and twisted, and a little pumpkin cap popped out. Dean put it to the side and let Claire explore it with her curious fingers.

Dean picked up a long, curved metal instrument next and inspected it briefly. “Now I’m going to, uh...” Castiel gestured to the inside of the pumpkin where its fleshy insides resided. “Hollow out the pumpkin. Obviously.”

Dean did this task more ardently, and it was only about a minute until he was up to his elbows in pumpkin guts. Castiel graciously helped him to scoop it all out and dump it on a metal tray that Jimmy had put on the counter for them.

Once the pumpkin was clean inside and out, Dean looked to little Claire, who was busy smushing her fingers around in the mountain of pumpkin goop. “What design do you want me to carve?”

“I want a vampire pumpkin!” Claire said. Dean raised his eyebrows. Then she looked thoughtful for a moment. “No, wait. I want Frankenstein.”

Dean looked over to Jimmy for help, but he just shrugged helplessly.

“How about both?” Castiel suggested.

Dean shot him an intense glare that he hoped clearly read ‘ _traitor_.’ Cas just blinked guilelessly at him.

“That’s a good idea,” Jimmy agreed. “What do you think, Claire?”

“I want a vampire and Frankenstein holding hands,” she said firmly, crossing her arms. “Because monsters can be friends, too.”

It was decided, then. Dean took a minute to relish the feeling of not yet being humiliated in front of a seven year old girl, and then touched the tool to shell of the pumpkin. His first carving was barely deep enough to nick the surface. He grit his teeth and forced the tool into the pumpkin until he felt its flesh yield beneath him. Claire traced every movement with eagerly.

A few long, painstaking minutes later, Dean stepped away to survey his work. He’d carved out a single eye. It looked...

“Not bad,” Jimmy said. Castiel cocked his head and looked at the eye sideways before making a noise of agreement. Claire clapped her hands excitedly and gave Dean a look that told him to get back to work.

Dean carved with excruciating caution for nearly an hour. By the time he finished Frankenstein, Jimmy had long since disappeared upstairs; Dean could hear the tinny sounds of a Halloween special blasting from what was probably his bedroom. Claire was still there, but her bright-eyed excitement had faded with drowsiness. She blearily scribbled in a coloring book on the floor for a half hour before she dropped off into a nap. Castiel gathered her up in his arms and carried her upstairs. Dean heard the television shut off, and then Jimmy and Castiel talking quietly for a moment.

Only one set of footsteps came down the stairs, and Dean was pleased to see that it was Cas who walked back into the kitchen. Dean worked quietly and Castiel watched with rapt attention, standing so still that it was almost unnatural.

“You’re doing well, Dean.” Dean flushed and immediately berated himself for it. There was no reason to feel overly proud about pumpkin carving. “Better than me and Jimmy, at any rate.”

Dean snorted. That was encouraging. He spent another forty minutes adding the finishing touches: the vampire’s fangs, the deep shadows in Frankenstein’s face, and the little highlight in the vampire’s slicked back hair. When he was finished, Dean wiped his fingers off on his jeans (realizing belatedly that they were now covered in pumpkin goop) and squinted at his creation. It wasn’t overly complex or intricate, but it was certainly the best he could do. A lot better than he’d thought himself capable of, actually.

“Guess that about wraps it up,” Dean said, setting his sullied tools down on the table.

Castiel nodded sagely. “It turned out very nice. Claire will like it.”

“Uh, thanks, man.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Should we wake her up?”

Castiel shook his head. “Jimmy says never to wake Claire while she’s taking her daily nap. In his words, she’s absolutely ‘beastly.’”

Dean laughed at Castiel’s delivery. “Okay. I guess I’ll just... go, then. You can tell me how she likes it tomorrow.”

Castiel looked stricken for a moment, like he hadn’t thought of the fact that Dean would eventually be leaving. “Wait.” Dean stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at Castiel. “I never got to thank you for letting us have the pumpkin. Or for carving it.”

“It’s no big deal. And you don’t have to thank me; I was being childish about it in the first place.” Dean shrugged, but Castiel looked slightly crestfallen and it made his chest twinge just slightly.

“I disagree,” said Castiel. His blue eyes were wide with earnesty. “Are you hungry?”

Dean allowed himself to smile. “Yeah, actually.”

“You should come to my house for dinner. It’s the... least I can do,” Castiel offered, looking almost confused as his mouth shaped the words. Then, with great apprehension he added, “I’ll cook something.”

Dean tipped his head back as though he had to consider. Really, it was a very easy answer. Castiel was cute and Dean’s stomach was already grumbling. “Sounds good, man.”

Castiel looked pleased.

-

Castiel _really_ wasn’t a good cook. Or at least Dean could safely infer that from the way he was running around his kitchen like a madman, occasionally muttering obscenities under his breath that Dean could hear all the way from where he was sitting on the couch in the living room. After a good twenty minutes of listening to Castiel’s self-deprecating monologue, Dean wandered into the kitchen and knocked gently on the wall so as not to startle Cas, who was carrying a huge pot to the sink.

Castiel stopped dead and looked at him. “Dean--” He looked at the pot like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar. “I’m... having some difficulty. Sorry for the wait. Dinner should be ready... eventually.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean said. “What’s in the pot?”

“Water,” Castiel said, wincing. “I tried to boil it, but...”

Dean walked over and peeked into the pot. There was maybe an inch of water in there, and that was being generous. “What are you trying to make?”

“Soup,” Castiel said. He sighed and set the pot down. “I got distracted trying to chop the vegetables, and by the time I checked the water, most of it had evaporated.”

“You don’t do this very often, do you?” Dean asked. He couldn’t help but laugh, but not unkindly. Frankly, his ineptitude was amusing.

Castiel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m good at some things,” he said. “Cooking is not one of them.”

“Neither is pumpkin carving,” Dean reminded him, grinning cheekily.

Castiel rolled his eyes. “This is not the time to laugh at how incompetent I am, Dean. What are we going to do about dinner?”

“We could just order pizza or something. I don’t care.” Dean shrugged. “Or, you know...”

“Or?”

“I mean, I’m not Bobby Flay or anything, but I’m an okay chef. I can make a decent pasta, at least.”

“Bobby who?”

“ _Boy Meets Grill_? The _Next Food Network Star_?”

Castiel just shook his head, expression completely blank. Dean slapped him on the back. Boy, this guy didn’t get out much, did he? “Forget about it,” Dean said easily. “I’ll show you later.”

“Okay, where are the vegetables you chopped up?”

“In the garbage,” said Castiel, pointing. Dean glanced into the open trash can and saw mountains of absolutely _massacred_ celery and carrots.

“Wow.” Dean whistled. “That’s almost impressive.”

Though Castiel couldn’t chop worth shit, he had a pretty extensive assortment of knives. Dean asked Castiel if he had any vegetables left that hadn’t been slain by his hand. A moment later Cas dumped a handful of tomatoes in front of him.

Dean picked a wavy edged paring knife from the rack on the counter and set to work. Castiel settled on one of the kitchen stools and watched avidly, eyes following every sure movement of Dean’s wrist. Unlike the pumpkin carving, cooking was something that made sense to him. It was something he had been doing with his mom for two decades now; every time he cooked, he did it with Mary in mind.

“What are you making?” Castiel asked curiously.

“You’ll see.” Dean said. Castiel fell silent then, only speaking when Dean asked where specific herbs or vegetables were. “You got any linguine?” he asked, after he was finished meticulously chopping all of the ingredients and had tossed them into a bowl.

Castiel set a full box in front of him and Dean’s grin lit up his whole face. Castiel swallowed and Dean watched the movement raptly before turning away to boil more water at the stove. It was going to be a long evening.

-

Even Dean could admit that the meal looked good. It was colorful and hearty, and it smelled like Heaven on a plate. Castiel seemed to agree. He was staring at his dish reverently, and if Dean squinted, it almost looked like his eyes were watering.

“It looks amazing,” Castiel said eventually, making no move to pick up his fork. “I almost don’t want to ruin it by eating.”

Dean flushed and twirled his fork absently in the pasta like a girl twisting her hair around her finger, then stopped when he realized that he was very obviously projecting _I have a crush on you_. Practically screaming it, in fact.

Eventually, Castiel’s stomach rumbled, and he finally gave in to the urge to eat. The first bite was embarrassing for the both of them - for Castiel because he made an unbidden sound that was very obviously a moan of delight, and for Dean because he hated watching other people try his food for the first time. He imagined it was the same feeling artists got when their work was on display.

“Dean,” Castiel said. He put down his fork and stared between Dean and the plate in fascination. “This is fantastic. You have to teach me how to do this.”

“It’s my mom’s recipe,” said Dean, shrugging.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Dean stuffed his mouth full of pasta to avoid saying something dumb or incriminating. He chewed as slowly as possible. After he had ground the pasta into a fine paste, Dean accepted the inevitable and swallowed. “You really wanna learn?”

“Very much,” Castiel said sincerely. He took a huge bite of food and closed his eyes, savoring it for a moment. “I can’t remember the last time I had something that wasn’t take-out or cereal.”

“Dude.” Dean studied Castiel’s well-apportioned figure suspiciously. “How are you alive?”

“I eat at Jimmy’s house when I can. His wife makes good lasagna,” Castiel said casually.

Dean felt an inkling of pity but quickly extinguished it. He was really, really not in a position to feel bad for Castiel. The only reason he ate a full meal on any given day was because his mom cooked dinner for him. Sure, he was technically an Adult, but he was probably the least grown up person in his small family unit. Even Sam’s stupid floppy-haired-college-kid carelessness outweighed Dean’s maturity.

“Um, I guess I could give you a little crash-course. At least get you up to snuff on your chopping skills.”

Castiel broke into a smile the likes of which Dean couldn’t have imagined on his face prior to this moment. It was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, or some equally poetic bullshit. Basically, it was the moment that Dean acknowledged to himself how well and truly fucked he was. He couldn’t help it. No one should look that grateful and stupidly earnest over a plate of pasta.

“I would appreciate that.” Castiel gestured at his half-finished meal. “But first, we eat.”

-

This was a bad idea, and Dean couldn’t imagine how he hadn’t picked up on that beforehand. He liked to think of himself as a guy who covered all his bases. This very scenario was the exact opposite of that. He had covered zero bases, and that was abundantly clear by the way Castiel’s back was pressing a long line of heat along Dean’s chest, and the fact that there was no escape route in sight.

Castiel’s hand was steady under his, but he was over-eager. He cut into the apple like he was 30 seconds away from meeting the time limit on _Chopped_ and had three celebrity judges waiting to rag on his technique. Dean tightened his fingers around Castiel’s wrist and gentled his movements.

“Slow down,” he said, in what was a very put-on attempt at soothing. Regardless, Castiel took a breath and relaxed against him. The rigid line of his shoulders melted into a sloping mountain range, and Dean didn’t know what to do with the sudden knowledge of how Castiel felt pressed warm and pliant against him.

Castiel finished slicing the apple turned around to look at Dean for approval, a little line of concentration drawn between his brows. Dean swallowed unsuccessfully past the lump in his throat. It was rude, quite frankly, how fucking endearing Castiel could be without trying.

“It’s good,” he said, speaking through clenched teeth. “You did good.”

“Now what?” Castiel asked, gesturing to the pile of apple slices on the counter. He gave no indication that he noticed anything amiss in Dean’s countenance. Either he was as oblivious as Dean’s grandfather (who refused to believe he could like boys _and_ girls), or he had a scary good poker face. Either way, it was inconsequential, because nothing was going to happen between them. Castiel was settled in his nice little apartment like the adult Dean had been masquerading as for years, and he probably had some ridiculously impressive credentials under his belt. Maybe even a PhD. ( _Shit_. Should he be calling Castiel doctor?) Next to him, Dean was essentially a man-child with a forgotten B.A.

With that lovely thought, Dean stepped away to gather up the apples and dump them in the tin pan. “Now,” Dean said, in his best teacher voice, “we make the most kick-ass pie this side of the Atlantic.”

-

It wasn’t the best pie Dean had ever had - not even close - but it didn’t matter; Castiel’s face when he took the first bite of his own creation was absolutely priceless. He was practically radiant with pride, and Dean couldn’t help but share in it.

“This is fucking awesome, Cas,” Dean said, making exaggerated enthusiastic noises as he made his way through a nicely browned slice of warm pie. “Seriously. Especially for your first time.”

“It turned out better than I thought it would,” Castiel admitted, cheeks very faintly pink.

“‘Course it did. I was your teacher, after all.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, with a completely unwarranted note of sincerity. Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Thank you, Dean. This was unexpectedly gratifying.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean muttered, rubbing at his reddening ears self-consciously. “Just another thing my mom taught me.”

“She seems to have influenced you a great deal,” Castiel said hesitantly.

“Yeah, she, uh. She’s pretty important to me, y’know.”

“I don’t,” Castiel said decisively, “but that’s irrelevant. I’m glad you have her. She sounds like a good mother.”

“She is,” Dean said simply. He smiled just thinking about her, then turned his face into his collar to try to mask it. He was a fuckin’ momma’s boy, and it was so obvious that even Cas could see it.

“Was she very upset about the pumpkin?” Castiel asked suddenly. He looked genuinely contrite.

“No, man,” Dean assured. “I told you. It’s not a big deal.”

“But Halloween...”

“There’s always next year,” Dean reminded him.

Castiel fell silent, and Dean thought that was the end of it. A moment later, Castiel stood abruptly from his stool and stalked off into the other room. Dean felt like he’d been stung. What just happened? Had he done something wrong? He didn’t have long to steep in that anxiety, because a few seconds later Castiel was sheepishly trudging back into the kitchen, a large wagon trailing noisily behind him.

Dean’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw it. “Is that--”

“A pumpkin?” Castiel asked, defeated. “Yes. It’s the largest one in Topeka.”

“Topeka?” Dean was beyond bewilderment at this point.

The pumpkin was gigantic. At least as large as the pumpkin he had just carved, if not larger. It was still a little been green around the edges, but in two days, it would be the perfect shade of orange.

“When I went back to the orchard here in Lawrence, the owner said that he’d already sold off his largest pumpkin a couple of weeks ago. I asked him where I could find the equivalent, and he told me that he had a friend in Topeka who specializes in--”

“Cas.”

“So I drove out there a few days ago and bought one, but then I felt it would be absurd to just call you and tell you that I had bought you the largest pumpkin in a 30 mile radius--”

“ _Cas_.”

Castiel snapped his mouth shut and stood there looking like a dog who peed on the sofa. “It was a ridiculous idea to begin with. I shouldn’t have, I know.”

“You didn’t have to,” Dean started. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have. I can’t believe you. This is, like... the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Doubtful,” Castiel replied, still looking inexplicably chastised. Dean blew out a breath of exasperation and laid his hands on Castiel’s shoulders.

“I’m being serious here. It... means a lot to me.” Castiel still looked skeptical, so Dean approached the situation from a different angle. “My mom is going to love it.”

Castiel’s guarded eyes softened. “You think so?”

“I know so. She loves this kind of holiday shit. Hell, we’ll probably carve it all together, make it like a family event. My little brother might even chip in.”

Castiel lowered his gaze. “I’m glad.” But there was some undertone of melancholy in his voice that Dean couldn’t shake. It took him a moment to process, but eventually he recognized it as something he himself was rather familiar with: loneliness.

“You wanna come carve my pumpkin with me?” Dean asked, a touch too apprehensive to come off as casual.

Castiel’s eyes snapped back to his face, narrowing in consideration. "Your mother wouldn't mind?" 

 

"Hell no, man. Mom loves company. Besides, she's been wanting me to bring someone home for years." Dean coughed, immediately realizing his mistake. "Uh, I mean... Not that-- not that I'd be  _bringing you home_ like a date or anything, but--" 

"Was that an offer?" Castiel interrupted. 

God, Dean really shouldn’t take the bait. He really, really shouldn’t... but this was where he was like a child. He didn’t care that he shouldn’t. “Do you want it to be one?”

Castiel swallowed carefully. “If that is your intention.”

“Believe me, Cas,” Dean said, hands moving from Castiel’s shoulders to curl around either side of his neck. They were clammy, but Cas wasn’t paying any mind. Instead he was scrutinizing every inch of Dean’s face as though he were determined to commit every minute detail to memory. “I have never intended anything more than I fuckin’ intend this.”

Castiel fit a firm, unyielding hand to Dean’s jaw and used it like a handle to pull him closer. Then he leaned in carefully and pressed their mouths together. His lips on Dean’s were dry and warm. The clumsiness that was present in his cooking was entirely absent in this respect. Castiel kissed with a kind of controlled fury, like he had every movement planned out and was executing each one with astounding accuracy. It was breathtaking, _literally_. Dean almost couldn’t keep up.

After a solid minute of feeling out each other’s space, Castiel gently tugged on a fistful of Dean’s hair (a kink which Dean had to fight not to reveal with a gratuitous moan) to separate them. Their lips came unstuck softly, slowly. Dean darted back in for a last kiss, licking at the dip of Castiel’s lower lip to keep the taste of him on his tongue, just in case.

“I find you extremely endearing, Dean,” Castiel said matter-of-factly.

Dean dropped his forehead onto Castiel’s shoulder and exhaled in relief. “Ditto.”

“Does this mean you accept the pumpkin?”

“Of course I accept the goddamn pumpkin,” Dean said, lifting his head to look Castiel in the eye. “Does this mean you’re going to carve it with me?”

“As an extra set of hands or as your date?” Castiel asked, almost teasing.

Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s neck and tugged him into his side to press a kiss to the pink apple of his cheek. “Both.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is sooooo late. Sorry about that. I meant to write this in time for at least one of the winter holidays, but I got really sidetracked. Happy extremely belated Halloween! 
> 
> This might be the last part of the series, especially if no one's into it. 
> 
> Title from the song "Like Real People Do" by Hozier. (he's gr8 please check him out).


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